Hey Mom and Dad,

Another night, another mystery solved in Pawsburg! Cracked a case of fake pumpkin treats with my trusty crew—Mya and Misty. We nailed that slippery dachshund and a scheming greyhound. It’s a tough job, but someone’s gotta keep the dream of real treats alive! 🐾

Miss you both,
Bella (aka Tum Wubbs)

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Another night, another mystery. That’s life when you’re part of the K-9 unit in Pawsburg. My name’s Bella, and I’ve been cracking cases since the tender age of one. At 13 inches tall, I’m what they call a “pocket detective,” but don’t let the size fool you; I’m a beagle who’s seen more action than most dogs twice my height.

“Mischief managed, but chaos pending,” that’s my motto, especially when corruption is afoot at Bloodhound Bluffs. Tonight, I’m teamed up with Mya, my niece and partner-in-sniffing, and Misty, our pint-sized but fierce chihuahua intelligence officer. No case too small, no biscuit too big to bite.

We start our evenings with a trip to Bulldog’s BBQ. It’s not just about the food; it’s about gathering intel. The smokehouse is a hotspot for dock workers and ferry dogs spilling secrets over bowls of kibble stew. Tonight, the whispers aren’t just about that elusive catnip dealer; there’s a bone-chilling rumor about false treat trafficking.

“Hey, Bells, heard anything about the Black Market Dog Brigade?” Mya asks as we sit beneath our usual table.

I give her the look, you know the one—half curiosity, half suspicion. “Not much, just bits and barks. Spill.”

Misty’s eyes flash as she pokes her tiny head out, her collar jingling, “Chew on this: Eskimo Estuary’s got a stash of fake pumpkin treats. Word is, they’re wrapped to look like the real deal but taste like cardboard.”

Fake pumpkin treats? Oh, it was on. No way anyone messes with my favorite delicacy. We leave Bulldog’s and head towards the estuary, its icy waters glittering under the streetlights like stars.

The docks are eerily quiet—a stark contrast to the bustling day crowd. Our suspect? A slippery dachshund named Danny, notorious for his infamous cardboard trickery. We find him lounging beside a heap of crates. He barely gets a whiff of us before Misty barrels in, all 5 pounds of fiery reputation.

“Talk, Danny, or you’ll be chewing air biscuits for the rest of your flea-bitten days,” Misty growls.

Danny shivers, his eyes darting between us. “Alright, alright! It’s not just me. Gracie the Greyhound’s in on it. She’s distributing through Best in Show Photography. They deliver ‘special’ photo packages, but inside… it’s all fake treats.”

Of course. A front under our wet noses. This required some high-speed sniffing, a skill I was born to master.

We rush to Terrier Town, where the photography shop hides in plain sight. Busting in, we catch Gracie mid-packaging. She freezes, laminated photos in one paw, box of fake treats in the other.

“Busted! And just before my mid-night nap,” I sniff with an air of self-righteousness.

Gracie drops the goods, opting for a swift retreat. But Mya blocks her. “End of the line, Gracie. These paws aren’t just for show.”

Without another word, she surrenders. We round up the fake treats, making sure they won’t spoil any more doggy dreams.

Back in the backyard, I savor the sweet taste of real pumpkin treats under the moonlight. Mya and Misty are already snoozing beside me, proof of another day well sniffed. Sure, we live for the thrill, the hunt, and the occasional nap, but keeping Pawsburg clean of corruption? That’s what gets my tail wagging.

Tomorrow, we might have a new case or maybe just a lazy morning in the yard chasing imaginary critters. Either way, it’s another day in the life of Bella, the pocket detective. And if you see any suspicious treats, you know who to call.

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The End.